


Amanda

by stew (julie)



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Anglo-Irish Relations, Class Differences, F/M, Minor Character Death, Northern Irish Troubles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1992-04-01
Updated: 1992-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23238853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Bodie was due to meet Cowley at the old man’s club, but Cowley stands him up due to some emergency or other. Which works out just fine, because instead Bodie gets to meet the most beautiful woman in the British Isles.
Relationships: William Bodie/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Amanda

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** A prequel to my fic “Loyalties”, though they each stand alone and can be read in any order. 
> 
> **First published:** in the zine “Backtrack” #6 by Joanne Keating in April 1992.

# Amanda 

♦

Bodie had been stood up. It didn’t happen often, and it had never before been in quite this much style, but the fact remained. Bodie had been stood up by, of all people, George Cowley, while he was waiting for the man in, of all places, Cowley’s club. One of the ever-so-proper waistcoated flunkeys had just passed on Cowley’s message, and had ever-so-politely indicated that it would be quite appropriate for Bodie to now leave. Damned if he was going to. Especially as the flunkey also passed on the order to report to Cowley’s office at six the following morning, when Cowley would perhaps be finished with the present emergency and might at last be able to spare the time to brief Bodie on his next assignment. 

CI5 operatives were only ever invited to Cowley’s club if it suited the old man to be chauffeured by them, or if he had no time to get back to headquarters after meeting one of his Whitehall cronies for a business lunch. Bodie was determined to make the most of it, and have a few drinks at Cowley’s expense. He stood and headed, to the flunkey’s surprise, in the opposite direction to the front door.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but the facilities are for members and guests only.’ 

‘I’m Mr Cowley’s guest,’ said Bodie. 

The flunkey looked ever-so-annoyed at this, but Bodie stared him down with enough fire-power for the smaller man to realise that this was not the sensible time to make a fuss. ‘Sir…’ And he led Bodie into the bar with an ever-so-injured air.

Bodie sat on one of the many vacant bar stools, and ordered a neat Scotch. Then he looked around and wondered why he had bothered insisting on staying – they weren’t his sort of people, after all. He felt uncomfortable amongst all these old fogeys in their tweed, with their upper-crust accents and wooden pipes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t dressed well enough – he was in his sharpest dark suit, and a sapphire blue tie that he knew highlighted his eyes. In fact, he was possessed of more youth and energy and looks and wit than any of them in the room. So why did he feel inferior? He didn’t care for their opinion of him, and was sure they didn’t give a damn for his opinion of them either. But maybe it was this strange respect for social class that was in-bred in any Briton, no matter what their politics. Which was ludicrous when… when… 

When the most beautiful woman in the British Isles walked into the room. 

♦

She was obviously one of them, she belonged here and Bodie didn’t – he read that much from her unselfconscious elegance. She was tall and sleek like a thoroughbred, and seemed totally unaware of Bodie, let alone the effect she had on him. 

Nevertheless, she came to stand close by him at the bar. The reason for that soon became evident – the bartender was serving Bodie with another Scotch. When he was done, the woman said, ‘Hello, John. Have you seen my father this evening?’ 

‘No, Ms Payten, he hasn’t been in.’ 

‘Thank you.’ She looked around for a moment, perhaps wondering whether to wait or not. 

Bodie grabbed the opportunity with both hands. ‘You’ve been stood up, as well?’ She looked at him, so he kept talking. ‘I was meant to meet my father here, too. Not that he likes me to call him that – I’m the black sheep of the family.’ 

‘Are you indeed?’ She held out her hand. ‘Amanda Payten.’ 

‘Bodie,’ he said. He shook her hand firmly, then wondered uncomfortably if he shouldn’t have kissed it, as if she were a princess in an old movie. 

But Amanda smiled. If there was one thing that Amanda Payten was a sucker for, it was these men with Irish blood in their veins, with dark hair and the bluest eyes and creamy skin, with enough charm to bring marble to life. Bodie didn’t know it, but it was inevitable that she try to make conversation with him. ‘And what do you do when you’re not waiting on your father?’ 

Bodie considered this. He and Doyle got a lot of fun out of the fact that they couldn’t go around telling all and sundry that they worked for CI5. Their current story was that they were two out-of-work actors – a tale it was only too easy to believe these days. And being an actor excused so much… But he couldn’t see the cool and elegant Amanda Payten going for an actor, especially an unemployed one. ‘I’m a PE Teacher,’ he said, on a sudden burst of no doubt misguided inspiration – but it explained his fitness as well as giving him a fake career. ‘Physical Education. Twelve- to sixteen-year-olds.’ 

She nodded. ‘Is that interesting?’ 

‘It pays the rent.’ And then Bodie said, in a more belligerent tone of voice, ‘And what do you do? Or does Daddy have enough money to keep you in the style you’re so obviously accustomed to?’ 

For a moment, Amanda was silent, assessing the deliberate rudeness. But she gave Bodie one more chance. She said coolly, ‘My mother left me an independent income, but I do volunteer work. I probably work longer hours than you.’

‘Ah,’ Bodie observed sagely. ‘An aristocrat with a bleeding heart.’ 

‘If you resent either of those things, it’s still no reason to be so objectionable.’ 

‘Oh, please! No words over two syllabubs long! You can’t count on me understanding them.’ 

Amanda, quite literally, saw red. For once in her life she did something without thinking about it – she drew back her right arm and punched Bodie hard in the nose. 

It was the last thing he’d expected, in this place, in this company. So Bodie didn’t duck or roll with it. Amanda’s fist slammed into him directly, with more power than he would have credited her with, and he fell from the bar stool to the floor. 

Where he lay, ruefully rubbing at his face, glad only that his nose wasn’t broken. 

Amanda stood, staring down at him, as dumbfounded at her action as he was. ‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ she said when she found her voice. ‘I really have no idea –’ 

‘I do.’ Bodie looked up at her, wondering at his own actions. So Amanda was beautiful, classy, far beyond his station in life. Despite that, she seemed to like the look of him. He had already been on the defensive here in Cowley’s club, but Amanda had scared him into being thoroughly objectionable. Stranger things had happened, perhaps, but few as foolish. Bodie started to laugh. ‘I should be the one apologising.’

And, at last, Amanda smiled, too. ‘Are you all right?’ 

‘Yeah – you’re good, but I’ve run into better.’ 

She offered him a hand up, and he let her help him, then held on to her hand for a moment longer than he had to. His adrenalin was pumping, and it wasn’t only because he’d just been hit. Belatedly, Bodie remembered their audience. 

All heads in the room had been turned, and were still aimed their way. A couple of larger flunkeys hovered nearby, still assessing the situation and what was needed. No doubt nothing as exciting had happened in here since Queen Victoria had been crowned. Bodie grinned around at them all, uncaring of the angry glares, before returning all his attention to Amanda Payten. 

‘Let’s get out of here,’ she suggested. ‘You’ll be magnanimous enough to let me buy you dinner as an apology, won’t you?’ 

‘Magnanimous is my middle name,’ he declared. 

‘Then, what’s your first name?’ she asked, preceding him out to the foyer. 

‘Now, that’s a family secret,’ Bodie said, trying for an air of mystery. He smiled at her, mischievous. And, when they were out in the cold night air, he did what he had wanted to do before, and bowed his head to kiss her hand. 

♦

‘Well, goodnight,’ said Bodie. ‘It’s been a memorable evening.’ 

‘It certainly has,’ Amanda agreed. She got the door of her apartment unlocked, and turned to face him. Bodie was standing a decorous distance away – if she leant in for a kiss, he would respond with alacrity – and if she didn’t, they would part as friends, no hard feelings. Amanda smiled to herself. She rarely ran into such gentlemen, which would no doubt surprise Bodie. He’d think the rich and eligible bachelors that she spent so much time avoiding were all manners and wit and charm – when, really, the only person in her acquaintance of that description was Bodie.

She’d let the silence grow one moment too long. 

‘Goodnight,’ Bodie wished her again. He smiled, and started walking down the hall. 

Amanda Payten was an absolute sucker for Irish charm… She shook her head, amused at herself. She really knew better than to encourage strange men, she really did. But… as another charming Irishman once wrote, _I can_ _resist anything but temptation._ ‘Bodie.’ 

He turned; he was almost to the stairwell. An inquiring look. ‘Yes?’ 

‘You’d better come in,’ Amanda told him. 

The look on Bodie’s face decided her – cocky, gratified, anticipating – and, no doubt unknowingly, surprised and the tiniest part humble. Amanda decided then – no offers of coffee, no pretence. 

Bodie walked right up to her, and kissed her on the mouth. Amanda found the boldness, coupled with an unexpected hint of shyness and spiced by a God-given skill, intoxicating. 

Later, when he was discovering her, inch by slow inch of skin, Bodie kept murmuring that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, the most graceful creature he’d ever touched. Amanda believed him sincere. She’d heard a lot of skilful Irish patter in her time, but this was definitely from the heart. 

♦

Bodie took two mugs of tea down to Archives in the CI5 basement at about ten, in what had already become daily habit.

‘You’re late, said Doyle. He dragged himself, and the plaster cast on his left leg, over to the decrepit old sofa someone had placed there for the benefit of CI5 operatives on paper chases.

‘And they reckon doctors make lousy invalids,’ Bodie sadly observed. 

‘Well, _you_ spend all day every day down here,’ Doyle snapped, settling himself irritably. ‘See how you like it. And it’s going to be another five weeks yet, so –’

Bodie stood still under the belated but fierce scrutiny. 

‘Who the hell did that to you?’ 

The swollen, bruised nose looked far worse than it felt. Amanda had been horrified that morning to see the results of her hasty, if merited, anger. Conscious of the foolishness of it all, Bodie said now, ‘I met this girl, see.’ 

Doyle nodded solemnly. ‘And she had an enormous boyfriend –’ Remembering what was owed to Bodie’s pride, Doyle amended, _‘Ten_ enormous boyfriends…’ 

‘No; no boyfriends.’ 

Doyle looked infinitely wary. ‘She’s not another of those bloody gymnasts.’ 

Bodie laughed. ‘She has a fine set of muscles, but slim with it. And tall – taller than me.’ 

‘Yeah? Nice, though?’ 

‘Wonderful. Met her at Cowley’s club. She’s the daughter of a peer.’ 

‘You’re kidding. A lady – a _Lady_ going out with you…’ Doyle thought this through. ‘Well, a Lady trying to break your nose, anyway. What else happened?’ 

‘That’s for me to know, and you to fantasize about.’ 

Doyle could read that smug look of Bodie’s any time. The smitten air behind it was new, though. ‘So, when are you seeing her again? And can I come along, too?’ 

To Doyle’s surprise, however, Bodie shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Don’t know if I will.’

Doyle was glad to have something to puzzle over other than Cowley’s paperwork. 

♦

It had been a long day. And a long two weeks, with no call from Bodie. Amanda smiled wryly to herself as she made her way up the stairs to her flat, grocery bags in hand. She certainly wasn’t heartbroken, or even particularly sad. In fact, while she’d occasionally day-dreamed a few minutes away, remembering Bodie and his loving, she hadn’t worried about not hearing from him. That was obviously that, and she was simply glad she’d had one pleasant night with such a gorgeous man. Heaven only knew why she thought of him now… 

Amanda was about to let herself into her apartment when a commotion at the stairwell drew her attention. 

Two men were there – Amanda thought of them as boys, though they must have been close to her own age of twenty-three – half-carrying a girl, who was badly injured. Blood was a dull bloom on her jumper, one arm hung awry. And one of the boys was – Amanda realised he was her new neighbour, a pale and thin boy with a shock of red hair and a thick Irish accent. 

Amanda stared for a moment as the three made their way down the corridor. ‘Good God, what’s happened?’ she exclaimed at last. 

They were silent, surly. As they came closer, Amanda saw they were all in a mess, bruised and dirty and shaken. 

‘Let me help… For heaven’s sake, she should go to a hospital!’ 

‘Leave us be!’ cried out the boy who’d lived in the flat opposite Amanda for almost a week. 

‘What? Let me help, please.’ 

‘Leave us bloody well alone.’ 

Amanda stared at them, alarmed and totally bewildered. 

‘Fuck off!’ the boy yelled at her as she stood there. 

Turning, Amanda entered her apartment, shut the door behind her. Falling into habit, too startled to think, she put the kettle on and listened to the evening news on the television. 

That was when she lost the bewilderment and simply felt shocked and sickened. There had been a bomb in the Underground that had exploded too early and caught the people planting it unawares. One woman had been arrested, but three suspects had got away. The police thought that two of the suspects must be injured. And that they were members of the IRA. 

There was a pounding at the door. After a moment, Amanda realised that, in her confusion, she hadn’t set the locks – she ran, but it was too late. The red-haired boy let himself in, closed the door behind him and leant back against it. Amanda came to a halt, then stepped away to get the sofa between them. 

Silence, but for the news burbling on; something inane now about the Royals. 

‘What do you want?’ she asked. 

‘Your cooperation,’ he said, staring at her fiercely. 

Amanda gestured helplessly. ‘You and your friends just killed five people. You can’t possibly expect me to help you.’ 

‘I can ensure your silence.’ 

‘Yes?’ 

‘Yes. You come in and sit with us a while, until we’re ready to move on. A few hours. If you cause us trouble, I can silence you more permanently.’ 

‘I really don’t think –’ 

‘It’s not a request.’ And the boy drew a gun from behind his back. ‘It’s an order.’ 

Amanda stared at the gun. It wasn’t that she’d never seen a gun before, or handled one – it was just that they took on a whole new aspect when aimed at you. Menacing. Deadly. 

‘All right,’ she said at last. 

♦

The other boy had left to track down their IRA Sergeant, arrange transport and medical help. That left Amanda alone with the red-haired boy and the injured girl. 

‘Do what you can for her,’ the boy ordered, gesturing with his gun to where the girl lay shivering on a makeshift bed. 

‘I only know basic first aid.’ But, under constant guard, Amanda fetched hot water and medical supplies from her flat, then knelt by the girl, cleaned and bandaged her wounds as well as she could. 

Then there was nothing to do but wrap the now unconscious girl in a blanket, and wait.

It was almost four hours before two older men returned with the other boy, to take the three of them to safety. The men made Amanda help carry the girl out to a van, and Amanda feared she would be forced to go with them. If so, surely she would end up dead. 

But one of the men turned and said to her, ‘Go on home now. But if you call the police, I’ll come back and kill you. So you just forget all about us.’ 

Amanda stared at him for a moment, read the brutal determination in his eyes. She nodded once, and watched them drive away before heading back inside and upstairs to her apartment. 

No, she wouldn’t call the police. Amanda knew someone who would be more interested, and far better able to resolve the whole mess. She quickly collected her bag, a coat and her car keys. 

♦

‘You did well, lass,’ George Cowley said. Having listened carefully to Amanda Payten’s story, and having watched her poise and concern, Cowley easily saw why her father, an old friend of his, was so proud of the girl. She sat there before his desk, elegant despite the blood staining her dress. ‘You did very well.’ 

Amanda smiled wearily. ‘I suppose so.’ She sipped at the cup of tea he’d provided, grateful for the warmth if not for the flavour of the CI5 brew. At this stage, with dawn beginning to cast a grey light through the high windows of Cowley’s office, Amanda cared mostly about returning home to her bed. 

As if reading her thoughts, Cowley said, ‘It won’t be long now.’ 

She nodded, let him return to his files. 

At last a call came through on the radio. ‘Six-two here. The flats are all clear.’ 

‘Acknowledged,’ Cowley replied. Then he turned to Amanda. ‘I can have you driven home, if you like.’ 

‘That’s not necessary. You’ve been kind enough.’ 

‘As you wish.’ Cowley stood when Amanda did, and continued, ‘I’ve arranged for one of my men to keep you company for a while, until we have this sorted out.’

‘That’s _really_ not necessary, Mr Cowley.’ 

‘I’m afraid we have to take their threat seriously, Ms Payten. You understand…’ 

‘Yes.’ Amanda tried to appear grateful. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done.’ She shook his hand, and left, utterly deflated by the whole business. 

♦

‘Bodie!’ Amanda cried in delight. Her depression promptly lifted, and she forgot all about not caring a jot that Bodie hadn’t called for two weeks. The look on his face, responding to her smile, was lovely. ‘But what are you doing here at this time of the day?’

The light left Bodie, and he looked distinctly sheepish. 

‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, mock severe, adding a few things up. ‘You’re the man Mr Cowley left to look after me.’

‘Yes. Sorry about the PE Teacher story.’ 

‘It’s all right. Under the circumstances, I understand.’ She led the way upstairs. ‘Of course you can’t go around telling everyone you work for CI5.’ 

‘You’re kind,’ said Bodie. But he gazed a little forlornly at Amanda while she was busy with the locks. She was distant, cool, and the contrast to how she’d smiled when she first saw him was saddening. Bodie indicated the blood on her dress. ‘I hope that’s not yours.’ 

‘No.’ Amanda sighed. ‘No, it isn’t.’ Then, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked, all calm politeness. 

‘Yes. Thanks.’ 

‘Then I thought I might have a nap. I’ve been up all night, you see.’ 

‘That’s fine.’ Bodie didn’t appear self-conscious, didn’t seem to recall that the last time they’d been together, he’d shared her bed. ‘I’ll be here, there’s no need to worry.’ 

‘No.’ But, even so, Amanda couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. Bodie wandered quietly by the open bedroom door, on his rounds. More to distract herself than anything, Amanda said, ‘Why didn’t you call?’ 

Bodie came to a halt. He was silent for a long moment, as he searched for an answer. ‘Because I’m not a PE Teacher.’ 

‘Does it make that much difference?’ 

‘Working in CI5… makes things difficult.’ 

‘What things?’ Amanda asked with a hint of exasperation. 

Bodie looked at her. He’d stepped forward to the doorway, but seemed wary of entering her bedroom. ‘Friendships. Girlfriends.’ 

After a moment, Amanda sighed again. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve nothing to be angry with you about.’ 

‘You’ve had a rough night. Get some sleep.’ 

‘I’ve almost forgotten what sleep is,’ she said, the lightest hint of humour in her voice. 

Bodie grinned. ‘Welcome to Cl5.’ 

Amanda answered with a smile, then turned away, curled up. Ten minutes later, when Bodie checked her, Amanda was fast asleep, breathing in the deep slow rhythm he remembered too well. It was all he could do not to hop in and cuddle up with her. 

But he was on duty. And she had every reason not to want him there. 

♦

Amanda was curled up on the sofa reading _Pride and_ _Prejudice_ for the twentieth time, and Bodie was pacing restlessly around the apartment, when Bodie’s RT sounded. ‘Three-seven,’ he answered. 

‘Four-five here,’ came Doyle’s mock-cheerful voice. ‘Your lady’s safe – they’ve taken care of the bad guys.’ 

Bodie cast a glance at Amanda. ‘What do you mean, “taken care of”?’ 

‘It was all very messy. A shoot-out, and a car chase, and more shooting, and the van blew up with the last of them inside.’

‘Oh, nice. I bet Cowley’s pleased.’ 

‘Ecstatic, of course. It’s precisely the sort of thing he loves.’ 

‘Well, when his best team is out of action, what does he expect?’ 

Doyle laughed. ‘Got to go, mate. Someone’s got to sort this out for the old man.’ 

‘Probably the closest thing to action you’ll see for a month. Three-seven out.’ Bodie slid the RT back into his pocket and looked over at Amanda. ‘Taken care of,’ he said. 

‘I heard,’ Amanda replied, grave. 

‘They know the risks when they choose to do it. When they hurt people like you.’ 

‘Yes,’ she said clearly. ‘But I don’t have to like it. _Any_ of it.’ 

Bodie nodded. 

‘Do you identify with them at all? The IRA?’ 

‘What? No! They’re terrorists.’ And the look on Bodie’s face was eloquent of his opinion of the breed. 

But Amanda persisted. ‘The Irish themselves, then. Here am I, scion of the English nobility, believing that we should let go the reins a little. I wondered how someone with Irish blood thought of the matter.’ 

‘I was born and bred in Liverpool. I’m English, more or less.’ 

‘Yes,’ she said. Then, ‘I’m sorry for prying.’ 

‘I served in Belfast, in the army – the British Army. Keeping the peace.’ 

‘That can’t have been pleasant. I’m sorry, Bodie; my curiosity has a lousy sense of timing.’ 

For a moment more, Bodie remembered all the stress and fear, both on- and off-duty, all the hate and anger, the paranoia justified no matter which side you were on, all the violence and death. The five men who’d served with him who’d been killed, the two who’d suicided because they simply couldn’t cope with Ireland any longer. ‘It paid well,’ Bodie shrugged it all off with. 

He walked closer, laid a hand on Amanda’s shoulder. She touched it briefly, let her expression ease as his did. Bodie asked, ‘Are you interested in dinner? I could take you out, we could forget all this in the bright lights. Or I could go collect some takeaway.’ He smiled a little. ‘Or I could at last leave you in peace and solitude.’ 

Amanda was about to answer when she glanced at the front door. There was someone out there, someone shuffling and blundering about in the corridor.

Bodie raised one finger to his lips, and Amanda nodded. Then Bodie crept towards the doorway, drawing his gun. Just as he reached the wall beside it, there was a discordant knocking. ‘Let me in, you bitch!’ It was the red-haired Irish boy. 

‘What are you doing here?’ Amanda cried out from beside Bodie. He glanced at her, but didn’t try to stop her. 

‘He warned you – but you went to the bloody cops.’ The voice was full of anger, full of grief. And full of pain. ‘You fucking bitch.’ 

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t?’ 

Silence. ‘Let me in.’ 

Amanda felt desperately undecided. ‘You’re hurt,’ she said. 

‘I’m bloody well dying, bitch – the rest are all dead, and I’ll be joining them.’ 

At last, Bodie asked, ‘Are you armed?’ 

‘No. Didn’t stop them shooting me, did it?’ 

‘Can’t we try to help him?’ Amanda asked quietly. 

Bodie nodded, slid out his RT. ‘Three-seven here. You let one of the IRA lot slip away – we’ve got him here. Send someone over. And send an ambulance.’ 

‘Acknowledged, three-seven.’ 

Then Bodie undid the locks, and opened the door as far as the chain allowed. He looked briefly at the boy slumped against the near wall, decided he was no immediate danger, looked around what he could see of the hallway – deserted.

‘Stay back,’ Bodie said to Amanda, and opened the door fully. Again he checked the corridor, then bent over the boy who had slipped down to a shivering crouch. Bodie wouldn’t put it past these mad bastards to send the boy in with a grenade. 

But it seemed that the boy was unarmed. He’d been shot twice, in the gut and the shoulder. And had obviously lost far too much blood… Bodie picked him up and brought him inside, laid him on the floor, then closed the door and reset the locks. 

Amanda stood by the boy, almost as pale. 

‘See what you did to me, you upper-class cow.’ 

‘It wasn’t my choice.’ 

‘You needn’t have called _his_ lot in.’ 

‘Bodie – how soon can we expect the ambulance?’ 

‘A few minutes.’ Bodie cast another look over the boy. ‘Not soon enough.’ Silence for a moment, as Bodie met Amanda’s gaze. Bodie said dispassionately, ‘He’s dying, and he knows it. I don’t know how he got this far.’ 

‘To make you see,’ the boy spat. ‘See what you did.’ 

‘You did worse, I think,’ Amanda said slowly. ‘Those five people you killed hadn’t made the same choices you did.’ 

‘They made the choice – you all make it. To try and rule us. We don’t want you – in our country – in our business.’ 

Amanda didn’t want to argue with him. She didn’t know if it would gratify him, or if he’d even believe her, but she murmured, ‘Some of us see the need for change, too, you know. But your methods…’

Silence again, as the boy’s strength began ebbing away. It seemed only sheer determination had carried him this far, and that wasn’t enough any longer. His body shook as his blood continued to run from his wounds. The last of the blood he could afford to lose had been left behind him already, on the streets, cold. There was the wail of an ambulance in the distance, but the boy couldn’t hear it. ‘I’d do it all again,’ he hissed on his last breath. 

Amanda turned away. Bodie went to her and, after a long moment, she let him draw her close into his arms. 

Bodie thought it was strange to hold someone taller than himself. Strange but, when it happened to be Amanda, very nice. He said, ‘It’s over now, love.’ 

She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Isn’t that what you said last time?’ 

‘No.’ He leant back to see her face, and was pleased at what he found. ‘You’ll do,’ he said. Then, hearing running footsteps in the corridor, he went to let in the ambulance officers and Murphy. 

♦

‘I might call you this time,’ Amanda said. ‘Seeing as you’re so tardy about such things.’ 

Bodie looked at her, forlorn again. ‘It’s not that I don’t like you –’ he started. In fact, he liked her more than he’d liked anyone in a very long time. 

‘But what? The difficulties of CI5?’ 

Bodie shrugged. 

‘I have my own life, you have yours. Occasionally we can have dinner, can’t we? Or breakfast, or whatever we can find the time for.’ 

‘Sounds lovely,’ Bodie said dutifully. 

Amanda took his hands in hers and examined his doubtful, sheepish expression. ‘I’m not up to an in-depth conversation right now. Tell me what the problem is.’ 

‘Where do I start? I lied to you.’ 

‘But only about your career, and that was for security reasons. I would have done the same – and you didn’t lie about anything else, did you?’ 

Bodie shrugged again, pulled away. ‘I was there at the club to meet Cowley. My father’s been dead for years.’ 

‘And that’s all? Then what’s the matter? Do _you_ think I’m an upper-class bitch, too?’ 

‘No!’ Bodie, however, seemed to be considering this. He wandered away, apparently fascinated by the view from the far window. ‘Doyle told me, of course, you’re far too good for me.’ 

Amanda laughed. ‘And you believed him?’ 

‘Only because it’s true.’ 

‘Idiot,’ Amanda said, closing in on him. ‘We’re two intelligent, gorgeous, sexy people, who happen to like each other…’ She planted a kiss on the tip of Bodie’s cute up-turned nose, which she was relieved to see bore no permanent damage. ‘What else matters?’ 

Bodie took a deep breath, then slid his arms around Amanda’s delectable waist and smiled up at her. ‘Nothing else matters,’ he murmured in agreement. And he kissed her. 

♦


End file.
